I saw the blaze on my wall and it looked holy to me. A glowing grotto. A message from….my iron. That’s what it is, the sun reflecting off the bottom of my iron and onto my wall. But what’s with the red at the tippy top? My iron is speaking to me in and of, all it’s glory. Warm when it’s cold out, laboring day after day. Taken for granted. I have not praised my iron enough. look at me, she’s saying, I am the sacred in the mundane. The glowing glory of the forgotten. A miracle on your wall in the middle of the day.